Bloodline(63)

The phone rings behind Amory, and he turns away.

“None,” he says, hand on the ringing phone. “I’ll let your husband know if I hear anything. Makes sense you’d be worried about a little boy with your own baby on the way. We’ll find him. I promise.”

Amory picks up the call.

I leave, taking my time, not ready to return home. I walk past the newspaper office. When I step inside, Mrs. Roth, who looks more like Pat Nixon than ever in her red suit and pearls, tells me that Dennis has traveled to Saint Cloud and that the archives are still down. I peek inside the Fathers and Mothers hall next door. It still looks like it’s halfway unpacked. That doesn’t leave much to do in Lilydale. I don’t need anything from Ben Franklin or the grocery store, and I’m not hungry.

That leaves only Little John’s. I suddenly realize how hot and thirsty I am, how much my back and feet hurt. Yet I’ve been avoiding the bar ever since Ronald cornered me outside the nursing home. While I’m now certain—almost positive—that my mugger was from Lilydale, there’s always the distant chance that Regina ratted me out. Next time I see her, I’ll have to ask about it, and then I risk losing my only friend in town.

But my feet are steering me toward the bar. Maybe it was a mix-up. What if Regina innocently let it spill? Or what if it happened exactly like Ronald said, with Deck worrying about me and going on to identify the man based on the description the night of the mugging? That’s a lot to swallow, but believing it is easier than confronting Regina.

Little John’s is ahead on the corner. It’s late afternoon, another hour before everyone gets off work.

Anyone inside the bar is either unemployed or trouble.

The door swings open, and Kris stumbles out.

Or both.

A woman follows him. I don’t recognize her, but they’re so comfortable with one another that I wonder if they came to town together. She tumbles into him, laughing before kissing him passionately.

I duck into the nearest alleyway until Kris and the woman pass, weaving in the general direction of the Purple Saucer. Once they’re out of sight, I have a choice. I can go home, or I can simply walk into Little John’s and ask Regina straight up what, if anything, she’s told Ronald.

It would be the responsible thing to do.

But I can’t bring myself to step through the door. I don’t think I could bear discovering I’m alone in Lilydale, as alone as I feel. Instead, I hurry toward the phone booth and dial the number to the Star. I’m told Benjamin is on assignment and that it’s not known when he will return.

I ask to leave a message.

When that’s done, there’s nothing for me to do but go home and prepare Deck’s supper.





CHAPTER 48

When I wake up the next morning, I see Deck’s already left for work. I don’t even know what time he got in last night.

Late.

It occurs to me that I can pack a bag and hitchhike to Minneapolis, beg Ursula to take me in, convince her of the danger in Lilydale, that we must get the police involved. But I’m safe here as long as I’m pregnant. This fact buys me time to help Angel, if such a thing is still possible, to plan, to think of a way to escape this town that guarantees they can never hurt me or my baby or force us to move back here.

Deck hasn’t remarked on my anxiety. He has been working late nights. He’s been distant. I think I saw him flirting with Miss Colivan, the fourth-grade teacher, at church. He may not have initiated it, but he didn’t seem to mind when she laughed at something he said—he’s never been funny—and snaked her arm around his waist. It saddens me, but it also makes planning my escape that much easier.

I jump when the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Joan Harken, please.”

“This is she.” The person on the other end of the line sounds so civilized and normal. I want to scream at them, Save me! Get me out of this crazy village. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Samantha Beven. From the Minnesota Health Department. I’m returning your call.”

About what? I almost say.

But then I remember. I called them a lifetime ago when I thought the world had rules and that I could write an article about blood collection and censuses.

“Thank you for calling me back,” I say, thinking quickly. “I’m a reporter for the Lilydale Gazette. I wanted to find out more about the blood survey you’re bringing to our town. What you’re hoping to find.”

“What we were hoping to find was one of the purest Germanic bloodlines in all of Minnesota. Unfortunately, Lilydale refused us access.”

“They can do that?” But of course they can. They can do anything they want. And boy, would they want to avoid a blood collection, if my theory is right, if Ronald and Stanley—and probably Clan the Brody Bear, Amory Mountain, and Browline Schramel, too—have a decades-long history of raping local women, exacting the price of staying “safe” in Lilydale.

“A city council does have the right to turn away our blood research, yes.”

“I understand.” The phone clicks. Has she hung up on me? “Hello?”

“I’m still here.”

“It sounded like you ended the call.”

“I heard it, too.”

I feel a dozen eyes on me, or should I say ears? But curiosity—no, terror—is pushing me to get answers. I need a logical reason why Deck, Kris, and I all have the same scar on our arms. “I have another question, and it’s an odd one. You might not even be the person to ask.”